


A Bone to Throw

by the_sylph_of_mind



Category: Fables - Willingham, The Wolf Among Us
Genre: Blood, F/M, I'm so self-indulgent I'm so sorry, Sex, coworker sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sylph_of_mind/pseuds/the_sylph_of_mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are a Fable from the Homelands currently interning under Doctor Swineheart. However, meeting the Doctor's most frequent patient, the Big Bad himself, has you terrified and a little inexplicably aroused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     "Welcome aboard. I hope you last longer than my previous assistant." Doctor Swineheart claps you on the back and you try not to wince. For surgeon's hands, they sure don't err on the side of delicacy. You gather your smaller bag of medical supplies next to Doctor Swineheart's bigger, more worn one and give him an affirmative, though your drumming fingers betray your nerves just a little.  
     "I suppose if you're to be working astride myself keeping the Fabletown residents healthy as horses, in some cases literally, you should meet those who work at the Business Office. Some of whom," he rolls his eyes. "find themselves requiring my assistance much more than others."  
     Your finger-drumming continues. Back in the Homelands, only a few knew you as "Doctor." Where you lived was small, secluded, but that didn't stop tales of the Big Bad Wolf from reaching you. Nor did it stop the Adversary, once he became the threat. You sigh and still your fingers. Many terrible things happened in the Homelands, and though the Big Bad Wolf was a long-time contender for top-terror, you quickly learned there were horrors present far more evil than he.  
     You straighten your shoulders, remembering the general amnesty, and how Bigby's track record has been spotless since then. Surely, he's nothing to fear anymore...?  
     You patter down the hall after Doctor Swineheart, trying to write off the cause of your pounding heart as excitement rather than fear, though you have enough medical knowledge to know yourself a fool for hoping that to be the case.


	2. Chapter 2

     You notice that Doctor Swineheart doesn't knock, but the knob rattles in his hand, so he sighs and raps his knuckles on the door anyway.  
     "Miss White is on leave!" You hear a high-pitched, slightly slurred voice call. "Please direct any inquiries to her inbox!"  
     "I'm not here on business, Bufkin." Doctor Swineheart calls through the door. "Just a quick house call to introduce my assistant to everyone."  
     You hear the flap of wings and the lock clunks open. The door opens seemingly on its own, until you look down. A knee-high winged monkey grins up at you, blinking cheerfully with solid black, slightly unnerving eyes. 

     "Ah, this is the lady in question?"

     Doctor Swineheart claps you on the back again, nearly knocking you onto the monkey.  
     "Indeed. This is Bufkin," he says, gesturing downward to the chipper monkey. "Essentially, the most valuable employee the Business Office has to it's name."  
     Bufkin grins bashfully.  
     "You flatter me, Doctor Swineheart, though it is nice to hear an appreciative comment." He turns his black eyes to you again. "Pleased to meet you. I'm sure you are also here to meet Miss White, but she's on indefinite leave, unfortunately. Boy Blue and I are doing our best to make up the missing manpower in her absence, but she's simply a tough act to follow. Though don't tell her I said that." He winks mischievously. You smile and nod, glancing behind Bufkin, a little nervously.  
     "Is Bigby here, Bufkin?" Doctor Swineheart asks. "Or is he scheduled to find more shrapnel to keep his organs company?"  
     "Yes, Mister Bigby is in. Would you like to meet him?" Bufkin's beady eyes shine expectantly. You try not to gulp.

     "Yes, of course." You mange to say without a hitch in your breath. Bufkin happily nods and flaps into the air, circling your head as he chirps, "Right this way, miss!" He flaps into the recesses of the massive, cluttered office.

     You lose sight of Bufkin quickly, but can follow the sound of his tipsy, labored flying and the trail of dust he raises in his flight. Your eyes are drawn upward into the darkened, creaking rafters and then some, past tangled branches, floating ships, and other countless, mismatched objects.  
     "Does this double as a prop house?" You quietly ask Doctor Swineheart, taking long strides to keep up with him.  
     "No," he replies. "But work here long enough and it will seem like some horrid play, I'm sure." You chuckle, though you're not entirely sure his comment was meant in jest.  
     "Mister Bigby!" You hear Bufkin's voice through the clutter. "Doctor Swineheart is here to introduce his new protégée to you!"  
     "Meet-and-greets aren't really my specialty, Bufkin." Your stomach clenches as you hear a voice reply, gruff, but not as deep or...growly as you would have thought. You follow it into a clearing where Bufkin perches on the back of a chair, seemingly speaking to a desk of drawers. A wide hand reaches up from under the desk and tosses a stack of papers, photos, and trinkets onto the tabletop with a dusty "whap."            

     Bufkin flutters his wings. "I'm afraid she is here, Mister Bigby; surely you wouldn't have me show her the door on her first day?"

     The hand grips the edge of the desk and your heart rattles around in your rib cage as you watch The Big Bad Wolf appear before you, standing slowly until he towers a solid six inches taller than you, stretching and rolling his shoulders, brushing dust from his tangled brown hair. He turns his dark gaze on you, and the phrase "What big eyes you have" flits briefly through your mind.  
     You knew he would appear as human, but you expected at least some sign of his true nature; a menacing grin or a ready-to-pounce posture, but no. His large, perfectly human eyes meet yours, and you feel no primal, flighty fear to speak of, though your heart inexplicably skips a beat.  
     He doesn't smile at you at first. In fact, his eyes widen and he nearly takes a step back, as if he were the one fearing this encounter not moments before. He straightens his tie, though it hangs loose between his collarbones.  
     "...Hey." You offer. Bigby blinks and finally smiles. It's warmer than you expected, not at all like a predator baring his teeth, but genuine, his brows peaking and crow's feet crinkling by his eyes.  
     "Hey." He replies, holding out his hand. "You've got big shoes to fill." You take his hand and shake, taking note of how pedestrian his handshake is, palm warm and soft. "Good luck keeping up with Doctor Swineheart here."  
     The Doctor rolls his eyes next to you.  
     "You'll have trouble keeping up with HIM. I've got a growing tab with you, old boy."  
     "I just go where the job takes me, Doc." Bigby replies, directing his gaze at Doctor Swineheart, but not releasing your hand, though he'd stopped shaking it. You swallow and let your palm rest against his, not sure what to do, but fairly certain the safest choice was letting Bigby lead. He moves his gaze back to you again briefly, though he makes no move to let go of your hand. You two hang there for a moment.  
     To your surprise, it's Doctor Swineheart who breaks the clasp.  
     "Regardless, I say this one will far surpass the, can we even call it longevity, of my previous assistant's record." He claps you on the back a third time, and this time you do stumble forward, tripping over something on the cluttered floor and into Bigby's chest.  
     Bigby yelps like a shocked puppy and catches you by the waist, nearly falling over himself. Momentarily frozen in horrified embarrassment, your cheek is briefly pressed into Bigby's chest, his heartbeat clear as a bell in your ear.

  
     Thump-mp.  
     Thump-mp.  
     Thumpmp.  
     ThumpmpThumpmpThum---

  
     You scramble backward and hold your hands out in front of you, apologizing for your klutziness, oh but thank you for breaking that fall, you're a lot more comfortable a thing to land on than whatever is on the floor, I'm sure, and did you know you smell nice? Nothing like a dog smell at all, I'm surprised! Ahahahahaha......

  
     You turn and run from the Business Office.


	3. Chapter 3

     If you'd any say in it, you would have never stepped foot in the Business Office again, what with your mortifying grand exit, but the Universe has a funny way of not caring how devastatingly embarrassed you are about anything, ever.

     "We received an urgent call from the Business Office," Doctor Swineheart says a few days later, snapping the clasp of his medical bag shut and turning to you as you peer over the top of some paperwork at your desk in his home office. "And believe it or not, I know I hardly can, we were not summoned to patch up Bigby."

                       ...

     Doctor Swineheart again declines to knock, though this time when he turns the knob to the Business Office door, it opens easily, and you follow him into the massive fort of hodge-podge items.

     "I suppose we follow the groaning." Doctor Swineheart strides along into the labyrinthine stacks of artifacts, you almost need  to run to keep up. 

     You weave your way through piled, various magical paraphernalia, following the steadily approaching sounds of pain. 

     You find a clearing in the towers of items, and kneeling in the center is Bigby, hands hovering worriedly over the source of the distressed, pained groans.

     Bufkin is sprawled out on the floor, one wing twisted completely backwards, the bone sticking out through the feathers and blood spattered and pooling around him. Your stomach twists. Taking into account your small-town origins, it has been awhile since you've seen something this gruesome. Bigby looks up, eyes wide, like he could read the worried thoughts on your mind. You meet his fearful gaze and swallow, clutching your medical bag. You gently nod at Bigby, your residual embarrassment at your previous encounter with him making your blood watery, resulting in your meager attempt at comforting someone scared for a friend. You shake your head and grip your bag tighter, thinking, how could you call yourself a medical assistant?  

     Doctor Swineheart doesn't bat an eye, just calmly strides forward into the clearing, quickly picking his way through shards of dark glass, and kneeling next to Bufkin's mangled wing. 

     "What happened?" You ask Bigby quietly. He turns his wide, dark eyes to yours, brows peaking and deepening the worried wrinkles  in his forehead. He doesn't speak for a moment, then shakes his head, brows furrowing in resolve as he answers you.

     "I think he was drinking in the rafters, passed out, and fell." You realize in a small moment of relief that the spattered dark liquid everywhere is mostly wine rather than the small winged monkey's blood, the shards of glass haloed about the trio clearly the remains of the bottle. "He either can't or won't tell me what happened himself." Bigby finishes, glancing back down to Bufkin, teeth clenched, his tail twisting and untwisting, letting out intermittent whimpers. 

     "I would say he can't." Doctor Swineheart replies, gently examining the damage. "You've never had a wing broken, old boy. My patients who have react similarly. It's quite painful. All bone, after all." He looks away from Bufkin and gazes into the black depths of the ceiling. "He fell quite a distance. I'm surprised he isn't in a worse condition."

     You take a step forward, and gingerly look Bigby in the eyes. He meets your gaze as you pick through shards of glass and kneel next to him, resolved to comfort a person scared for his friend like a proper doctor. You take care not to hesitate as you put your hand on his shoulder, his long, tousled hair just brushing your fingers. He looks to you, flicks his eyes to your hand resting on his shoulder, then slowly exhales. You breathe calmly before speaking, though your frenzied heartbeat doesn't slow.

     "I'm no match for the Doctor here, but I know it just looks serious. He's hurting, and probably won't be doing any flying for a while, but we can patch him up, and he'll be okay." You squeeze Bigby's shoulder on your last word and he lifts his gaze back to yours. He swallows and nods.

     "She's very right." Doctor Swineheart says, not indicating which part of your statement he agrees with, closing his medical bag. "I have many healthy former patients who have suffered much worse." Bigby nods again, moving his gaze after a pause from you back to Bufkin, grimacing on the floor. Doctor Swineheart places his bag to the side.

     "I need to move him." he says decidedly. You feel your stomach twist again and Bigby glances over to you.

     "It'll be excruciating if you move him," You protest. "We can't even know what other injuries he sustained, what if his spine..."

     "I need, at the very least, a clean surface, and if preferable, an elevated one. Where our friend lies is on a floor rarely swept, if ever, covered in glass shards." He gently places his hands below Bufkin's arms and looks expectantly at Bufkin's legs, then at you, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, I feel Bufkin is more resilient that he usually lets on, as far as our kind go. Well? Are you my assistant or are you not?

     Not sure why, you glance at Bigby, brows peaked. You hear him swallow, then he nods. You smile a little, his approval of your treatment of his friend bolstering you. You don't understand why it does, Bigby isn't your superior, or even learned in medicine in the least, but you turn to Doctor Swineheart and take Bufkin's legs gently in your hands.

     "Of course I am."


	4. Chapter 4

        Doctor Swineheart wipes dark blood from his hands before clapping them together. The sound makes you flinch.  
        “Well then, give him a month or so and he should be right as rain. Make sure he doesn’t do any, and I mean any flying for a quite a while, at least until that bone has healed back up.” He cleans his tools with a yellow, aged cloth and returns them to his bag after sanitizing them. Your bag is still open with your gauze wrappers still strewn about. You blush, hoping Bigby doesn’t think you’re messy. He seems quite preoccupied though, gently holding Bufkin in his arms, the tiny monkey looking pale as he sleeps. You feel relief breathe through you, partly from Bufkin being quite alright aside from a little blood loss, and partly because you have an opportunity now to clean up your disgrace of a station. As you pass Doctor Swineheart and reach for your own bag, you hear him emit a tiny scoff, as if to say it was about time you thought cleanliness was a good practice for a medical assistant. You grimace and quickly bunch up the gauze wrappers.  
        You were a little distracted during Bufkin’s surgery, you admit. Bigby had been standing over your shoulder the entire time, his breath on the back of your neck terrifying and making you hyper-aware of his location, so close to you, the heat from his arms warming yours and causing your mind to wander. Doctor Swineheart had needed to repeat his request for a tool on more than one occasion and you are certain Bigby knew it was because of him. You gulp as you finish cleaning and stowing away your own tools.  
        Bigby clears his throat, something you know he isn’t prone to do, despite how little you actually know about him. You turn to find him standing directly behind you once again. You manage not to jump.  
        “Excuse me, I…” He looks down and rubs the back of his neck. You notice the sound his rough palms make on the soft skin. “…wanted to thank you.” He finishes.  
        “Of course,” You say, thinking did it sound like he was about to say something else, or were you just hoping he would? “I’m only sorry the Doctor and I could do nothing more for the pain besides, well, knocking him out.” You glance over to where Bigby had laid Bufkin down on the desk, resting much more peacefully than he would have been awake, his wing bandaged and splinted.  
        “Really, I think it’s how he would have dealt with it himself if he were less injured.” Doctor Swineheart interjects. Bigby pauses and then reservedly nods and smiles just a little. Relief washes through you again seeing his smile. It means you aren’t going to get eaten for a little while longer.  
        Bigby glances up, again almost as if he could read your mind.  
        “You know, with Bufkin out of commission and…” His eyebrows peak for a brief moment as he pauses before continuing with a sigh. “…and with Snow gone for however long she’s going to be gone, we’re really short handed. Where did you say you were staying?”  
        You feel your heart leap into your throat as your awkward exit relives itself in your mind.  
        “W-with the doctor at his…work.” You grimace, knowing how sad that sounds. Bigby raises an eyebrow.  
        “You sleep there?”  
        “Yes.”  
        “You sleep in Doc’s office?”  
        “…Mhm.”  
        “…Like, on the floor?”  
        “No, there’s a couch.”  
        Bigby pauses one more time and then tilts his head back and laughs. You listen to the sound and watch his face change from worry to compassion and his voice from guarded tightness to happy abandon. You can’t help but smile a little as well.  
        “Well then,” he says, “You seem to be doing just fine, you have a couch in a doctor’s office after all.” He chuckles again. “Really though, you should look into the apartments the other fables and I stay at. It ain’t glamorous but it’s better than what you’ve got sorted out. And it's closer to the Business Office. We could use another pair of hands until Bufkin has healed up."  
        You nod, wondering if and why Bigby Wolf was offering you a job and a place to stay. You swallow and ask him.  
        “You just helped save my friend.” He answers with a shrug after a pause. And that was the end of it. Somehow you found yourself picking up a rental application at the Woodland Luxury Apartments.  
        …You have a feeling you’re in way over your head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the huge delay in updates, but whoever you all are and from which part of the woodwork you all came out of, thank you for your readership. It helped me get back into writing, specifically, it helped me get back into this fic, for all of you <3


	5. Chapter 5

     You don’t have that much to move, honestly, but when you run into Bigby at the gates of the Woodland Luxury Apartments and he offers to help you carry your desk up the stairs to your new place, you choke on your words. You’re torn between telling him that this was the biggest thing you own and it’s your last trip up the stairs, and accepting his help even though you don’t really need it.

     It ends up not mattering because he takes the other end of the dark wooden desk in his broad hands and lifts the entire thing up onto one shoulder, apparently taking your stammering as a “yes.” You gulp, trying to keep your eyes from trailing over his forearms as he holds up your desk and grins at you, ascending the stairs ahead of you. You find yourself again trying not to stare.

     Bigby sets down your desk with a grunt just inside the threshold of your new apartment. He looks around and your stomach does a terrified flip, dreading the question ‘this is all you own?’

     “Nice place you have here. Better than mine, that’s for damn sure.” You blink and after a pause thank him, something expanding in your chest. You gulp again. “So where do you want this?” Bigby asks, gesturing towards your desk.

     “Oh, um…I hadn’t really thought about that.” you say truthfully. “I guess just leave it there for now?”

     “If you say so, boss.” he replies, nudging the desk a little closer to the wall so it isn’t completely blocking the doorway. You notice Bigby trailing his fingers over the corners of the desk, like he's thinking of what to say next; or he knows what to say next, just doesn’t know how to say it. You find yourself mirroring his actions and fiddle with the buttons on your coat. The two of you speak at the same time.

     “Hey, so I was—”

     “Thank you for—” You grin sheepishly, but Bigby outright chuckles. You feel whatever it is that’s swelling inside your chest expand a little more. “You go first.” you say.

     “Thanks, um…” He taps his fingers gently on the desk, not making eye contact. “I was wondering something.”

     “…Yes?”

     “I was wondering…” He pauses and sighs, his shoulders almost slumping. “…if you were wondering where Snow’s gone?” You blink, and the feeling in your chest shrinks a little.

     “Well…I assumed it was really important Business Office stuff that called her away. I confess I hadn’t given her absence much thought after I drew that conclusion…why?”

     Bigby shrugs, but it isn’t a fluid motion.

     “No reason, really.”

     “Oh.”

     “Is there anything else you need help moving?”

     “Oh, no…this was it. Thank you for helping me.”

     “Yeah, sure. I uh…I think I’m gonna go smoke.”

     “Yeah, yeah…I’ll see you at the Business Office?”

     “Yeah. See you.”

     “See you.”

     You close the door behind Bigby, not wanting to watch him leave. The inexplicable expanding sensation in your chest has nearly completely vanished. You sigh as you cross your apartment and flop down on your bed, still unmade, the bedding in bags at the door of your bedroom. What was that all about? Asking you about Ms. White? And he left so abruptly. You admit to yourself that you were sad to see him go, any relief you might have felt upon a similar exit a few weeks ago when you first met him has been replaced by a strange hollow feeling. Longing? Longing for what? You roll over on your bed and sigh again.

      There’s a knock, fervent and loud, on your front door. You look up, startled, and clamber off your bed and towards the door, needing to edge around the awkwardly placed writing desk. You open the door to find a flushed Bigby standing there, an unlit cigarette gripped between his fingers. His teeth are clenched tight and his brows are peaked and he takes a single long, deep breath before asking you,

     “Will you have a drink with me tonight?”

     You nearly swallow your tongue.


	6. Chapter 6

     You usually take pride in your ability to not agonize over what to wear for any given occasion. This is not one of those times. Your entire closet, small as it might be, is strewn about your bedroom. You don’t really understand why you’re so nervous, you’d been asked out for drinks plenty of times before in the Homelands, even a couple of times here in New York, and you’d never reacted so…anxiously. Definitely, you are anxious. Not excited or giddy, just nervous about meeting the Big Bad Wolf for a freaking drink. You shake your head and sit down in front of the mirror for about the hundredth time, asking yourself what the hell are you doing? 

     You glance at yourself in the mirror, noticing your makeup is on point and the way you’d done your hair was nicer than you were certain Bigby had ever seen it. You can’t help but grin. You look damn good. Good enough to blow even the Big Bad Wolf himself off his feet. The rising feeling in your chest returns full force and you almost laugh out loud. You turn to look at the clothes scattered about your room and your eyes settle on your little black dress. Your grin becomes devilish.

 

…

 

     Bigby looks only slightly different than usual, but you can tell he’d had a genuine struggle deciding how he should look. A brown leather biking coat zipped neatly over his white button up and tie (which has a tie pin now, a moon it looks like), and his hair was more slicked back than you’d seen it before. It still poofed and frizzed in the back, even with the liberal amount of hair product you can see coating it. You smile. 

     You see Bigby sniff the air and watch the color drain from his face before he turns towards the door you just stepped through. He sees you looking the way you do and his eyes widen. You grin, not completely unlike a carnivore yourself as you eye him up and down, and weave your way between other patrons toward the bar where he sits. You watch him gulp just as you take a seat next to him.

     “You smell nice.” He offers. Then he blinks and stammers, “Look! Look nice, you look nice. I mean you smell nice too but…” He pauses and finishes his drink, small, round ice cubes and all. 

     You chuckle. Needless to say, your flirting with the devil as it were still had your stomach in knots, but you thought you might as well channel it into something useful. 

     “I’m sure you smell nice too.” you say as you flag down the bartender. “You’re sitting a little too far away for me to tell.” You feel Bigby stiffen and your knotted stomach does a flip. You’re casually reminded that you’re flirting with a carnivorous animal. Bigby pauses for only a moment longer, then grips the edges of his bar stool and scoots closer to you, the legs of his chair scraping against the rough tile floor of the bar. 

     “How about now?” He offers, and you swear he’s blushing. The leather cuff of his jacket brushes your wrist, resting on the bar, and your fingers curled around your drink slip a little. You can’t help but breathe in his scent, dark and musky like a forest after it rains.

     “…You do smell nice.” 

     “…Good, that’s good.” he chuckles nervously and you see the vein running through the back of his calloused hand throb faster. “It took me a while to pick out which cologne to wear.” 

     “Did it really? That’s sweet.” You take a small, shaky sip of your drink, dreading the silence you were sure was going to build if you did not break it. “I was wondering…” you say, making sure you time your inquiry between his sips, lest he choke on his beer. “Not that I’m not flattered, but…why did you ask me to have a drink with you?”

     Bigby pauses and sighs a little before meeting his eyes to yours. There’s a worry crease between his brown, bushy eyebrows and he inhales slowly before replying.

     “If you think it’s because you remind me of Snow, you’re wrong. I’m not that shallow.”

     You’re taken aback. You weren’t even sure what you were expecting his response to your question to be, but it certainly wasn’t that. 

     “What? No! I just…I really don’t know. I wasn’t thinking anything. I was thinking that, well…” you lace your fingers together and squeeze. “I was thinking that the Big Bad Wolf wanted a drink with me and seemed…pretty flustered about it. I was thinking how odd that was. You could probably get any mundie you wanted to go out with you, yet you chose to ask someone from the Homelands. Someone who knows about your past. Someone who…you know…might be afraid of you.”

     You see Bigby’s shoulders slump just a little. 

     “Are you afraid of me?”

     You really do need to think about this. He’s scary, he has a past and a reputation, but considering the times he’s interacted with you, thanking you for saving Bufkin, suggesting the Woodland Luxury Apartments, helping you move your desk upstairs…

     “You haven’t given me a reason to be afraid. At least not yet.”

     Bigby smiles a little and takes a drink of his beer. 

     “…Bigby?” It’s the first time you’ve said his name to him. It feels nice in your mouth. He turns on the barstool and faces you, his beer resting on the bar, condensation gathering and sliding down the side of the bottle in small drops. Your stomach tightens.

     “Where is Snow?”


	7. Chapter 7

     Bigby stiffens and looks to the bottom of his bottle. You suddenly feel the potential tidal wave crashing toward you on the shore of the answer to this question, and finish your drink as well.

     “She’s happy.” He replies. You blink. 

     “That’s…good, isn't it?”

     “It is. She deserves to be happy.” He waves the bartender down for another beer.

     “So…” you begin, tapping the bar top to indicate you are also ready for a refill, and also to alleviate your nerves. “…What exactly happened?”

     “Her prince came back to her.” he sighs and takes another long drink from his beer. You aren’t sure on the details, only that Charming had a bag full of dirty laundry in the past.

     “He cleaned up his act?” you ask.

     “Or something. Something worth Snow’s forgiveness. He’s back on track with a job somewhere, earning his own for once.” You think you almost hear a growl rumble in his throat, but you watch his hand around his beer and his fingers don’t tighten around the glass. He sighs. “You asked me why I wanted to have a drink with you.” You nod, your stomach suddenly knotting. “It’s because you’re beautiful, incredibly skilled in your field, kind to others in need, and well…I had a feeling you would look damn sexy in whatever you chose to wear tonight, which you do. God, you do.” You smile widely, then it falters. 

     “…Am I a rebound?” You ask, heart dropping. Bigby turns to you, eyes wide and eyebrows peaked. 

     “What? No! No, you aren’t. I miss Snow, sure, but I know she isn't mine to have. She never was, really. I’m moving on and I’m not looking for a…a rebound or a one night stand. I’m looking for…for…” He pauses and turns his beer in his palm thoughtfully. “…I’m looking for fulfillment, I guess. I’m a pretty unhappy guy a lot of the time, and I’ve tried a couple of things, but nothing really stuck and made me happy in the long run. It kind of hit me when Snow left, I want to see if making someone else happy is the thing I’ve been missing. And I have no idea if that will be you or not, but…” 

     You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the end of his sentence. 

     “But?” You encourage when it doesn’t come.

     “…But…would you be willing to help me find out?”

     You chew your tongue. Would you be willing to help the Big Bad Wolf find happiness? Moreover, would you be willing to be the source? Bigby’s eyes fall to the slick countertop, taking your pause to ponder as a definite “no.” 

     “I understand. I mean I have a history, and all…”

     “Buy me a drink.” You say. Bigby looks up from the bar, a little confusedly.

     “Come again?”

     “You want to court me, don’t you? To make me happy? A good place to start would be buying me a drink.”

     A grin cracks across Bigby’s face that could have lit the entire bar. He waves down the bartender and takes his brown leather wallet out of his pocket.

     “What would you like?” He asks you, smile lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Sorry for the little pause and the short update, but more is coming very soon! Thank you as always for all of your readership!


	8. Chapter 8

     The morning sun filters through the cheap blinds, dust motes slowly passing in and out of the bars of light. It would be beautiful if it didn’t make your head throb and your stomach turn unpleasantly. You mumble something about never needing to close the blinds in the mornings before because your bedroom window faces West…West…your bedroom window…your bedroom…is not where you are. 

     You sit bolt upright and immediately regret it. The room spins and you slowly lower yourself back into the overstuffed, moth-eaten armchair that you had apparently been sleeping in. Your neck hurts and you try to open your eyes after a moment to see if the room had settled. It had, and you tentatively take a look around. The apartment you find yourself in is minuscule, dimly lit, and smelled like cigarettes. Your upset stomach suddenly fills with adrenaline. What had happened last night? 

     “…Hello?” You hesitantly greet the empty apartment. Or so you thought.

     “So Big’s finally movin’ on, huh?” You nearly jump out of the chair if doing so wouldn’t have landed you on top of the pig you’d been resting your feet on in your sleep. You quickly remove them from his peach-fuzzed rump.

     “Oh. My gosh, hi, um…I’m sorry, I must have…have we met?”

     “Not when you aren’t shit-faced, no.” The pig chuckled, causing the ash from the tip of the cigarette he held between his pink lips to crumble and fall onto the dingy rug beneath him. If this pig is a frequent visitor, you can see why the rug is as such. 

     “Was I that bad? I don’t remember getting that drunk…”

     “You wouldn’t. Bigby told me he probably should have stopped buyin’ you drinks about an hour and a half before he actually did. Did you ask him to buy you a drink?” You nod and regret again your quick motions. “Figures. He’ll do anythin’ to please if he’s invested enough. Guess that’s you.”

     You feel your cheeks flush. It’s strange to think about the Big Bad himself being…invested in you, and stranger still to feel flattered about it. You straighten up, not without some difficulty, and introduce yourself. 

     “I know.” The pig says. “You wouldn't stop telling me last night. Or early this morning, more like. I’m Colin. Nice to meet you sober.”

     You muster a pained grin and apologize again. Colin shrugs and says it’s not a big deal, being that drunk is nothing he couldn't have easily been doing as well. 

     “Hey Colin,” you hear a muffled thumping at the door to the tiny apartment. “Come open the door, my hands are full.”

     “Yeah and I ain’t got thumbs.” Colin says as he heaves himself up off the rug and shuffles toward the door. He stands on his hind hooves and takes the knob in his mouth, turning it with a grunt. The door swings open to reveal Bigby with a tray of coffees in one hand and a pair of grease-stained paper bags in the other. His eyes light up when he sees you.

     “Oh good, you’re awake.” He says, stepping into the apartment and gently kicking the door closed behind him.

     “You’re welcome.” Colin says, ambling back to his spot on the rug.

     “I, um…I figured you would be hungover.” Bigby says with a gesture to the coffee and fast food, ignoring Colin. 

     “You figured right.” You say, rubbing your temple. “What happened last night?”

     “Ya lost your keys.” Colin says from near your feet.

     “I WHAT?” You fumble at your pockets and start to reach for your purse when you realize you don’t have it hooked around your arm.

     “By the time we realized you’d left your purse at the bar, we were already in the lobby of our building.” Bigby says, setting the bags down on the small counter in the kitchen and pulling the coffees out of their cardboard tray. “I called the bar and they found it and are keeping it safe, but of course you didn't have your keys. So we, you know…” He gestures around his small apartment as he walks toward you and hands you a foam container of black coffee. “I um…didn’t know how you liked it.” Bigby says a little bashfully. You’re grateful for the black coffee regardless, but inform him how you like it for his future reference.

     “For the next time I get you way too drunk by accident?” He asks you with a wry smile. “You do a good job of holding your liquor until it’s way too late.”

     “So I’ve been told.” You say after a sip of the bitter black liquid. There is a momentary lapse in which Bigby runs his fingers through his ruffled hair and seems about to speak when Colin breaks the silence. 

     “So can I stay here the next time I get drunk, Bigs?” 

     “You can’t stay here now.” Bigby replies, nudging him with his foot. “Come on, back to the farm with you.”


	9. Chapter 9

     After dropping Colin off, not without some difficulty, with someone to take him back to the farm, you and Bigby meander your way through the city streets back to the bar you frequented last night to pick up your purse from the owner.

     “So…” You venture after a moment of silence. “You were about to say something?”

     “Hm?”

     “Back in your apartment, you were about to say something and then Colin interrupted you.”

     “Oh, yeah…” Bigby runs his fingers through his dark hair again and glances at you from the corner of his eye. “I was…going to ask about…maybe doing this again?”

     “Waking up with a hangover on your couch?” You chuckle as Bigby opens and closes his mouth wordlessly and puts his hands out in front of him at your response. “I know, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” You say. “You mean about…getting another round of drinks, right?”

     Bigby stops gesticulating and looks you in the eyes, honestly. 

     “If you’d like that.”

     You think. A second date with the Big Bad Wolf? The first one, save for the hangover and leaving your purse behind, went really well. There’s no reason for you to say no. But there’s still that nagging feeling in your gut that is telling you to turn the other direction and run for your life before you get eaten. 

     “I think I would.” You say anyway. Bigby grins and pockets the unlit cigarette he had been toying with while you thought over your answer. 

     “I…don’t know that much about going on dates and stuff like that, but I do know there’s supposed to be this…three day waiting period…thing?”

     “Oh yeah.” You say. “Yeah I guess so? Do you think we should implement that?”

     “I…” Bigby starts, but you arrive at the bar and he opens the door for you to go inside and speak to the owner, not able to finish his thought on the matter. 

 

…

 

     You hold your purse tightly to your side as you walk with Bigby to the Business Office for the day. Admittedly, going out drinking the night before your first official day filling in for Bufkin was a very very bad idea. You rub your temples. 

     “You okay?” Bigby asks you, gently brushing his knuckles down your shoulder. You shiver, despite the heat.

     “Yeah, just trying to shake this headache. Thank you for walking with me back to the apartments, I know it’s kind of out of the way, but I really wanted to change into something clean…” You look over to see Bigby blushing.

     “…Are you okay too?” You ask. “Your face is all red.” Bigby’s eyes go wide for a moment. 

     “Yeah! Yeah just…the um…it’s hot out.” You raise an eyebrow.

     “…You didn’t…” You stop in your tracks. Bigby walks one pace further before stopping as well and turning to you, a confused expression playing over his face. “You didn’t peep in on me, did you?” 

     “What?” Bigby takes a shocked step backwards and holds up his empty  palms. “Of course not!”

     “Then why did you blush so hard when I mentioned changing clothes?”

     “I…could smell you.”

     “…What?”

     “When you were changing. You threw your old clothes by the door, didn’t you?”

     “…Yeah.”

     “They just…really smelled like you. And now you smell the same kind of way but all fresh and clean and…it’s just nice.”

     Bigby looks at his hands and chews on his lip, something you’ve never before seen him do.

     “Bigby…” You say his name and he looks at you with peaked brows. “Screw the three day rule.”

     “Hm?”

     “The three day rule we were talking about earlier? I don’t care about it. Let’s go out again tonight.” 

     Bigby looks at you with wide eyes for a moment before breaking into that grin that could light up the city. He opens the doors to the Business Office for you as he says,

     “It’s a date.” 

…

 

     Bigby gives you a rough tour of the library section in the Business Office. You try to take it all in and retain it, but there are so many books, and they’re all so old, it looks like most of them are from the Homelands. You’re focusing on the shelves trying to memorize all the titles when you realize Bigby has gone quiet. You look up to notice him staring at you the way he had stared at you when you had first met, wide-eyed and seeming almost frightened. 

     “Is…everything okay?” You ask, suddenly noting your surroundings for more than just the books. Bigby’s labyrinthine tour had ended with a dead end, which you are currently backed into with the Big Bad himself standing between you and any hope of an exit. You suddenly feel the apprehension you had quashed when Bigby had asked you for a second date rear up and twist in your gut uncomfortably. 

     “…Bigby?” You ask again when he doesn’t answer you. He takes a step forward. You start to shake. “I…I should…I really need to…um…” You stammer, taking a step back and matching him, keeping the distance between you even until your back suddenly presses up against a wall of dusty books. “I’m sure Doctor Swineheart has an update for me about Bufkin, I should really check in on that, and oh, I think I left the stove on, I really should get back to my apartment and…” You run out of things to blabber.

     Bigby takes one more step towards you and swallows, never once blinking or breaking eye contact with you. The butterflies in your stomach turn to bats as he raises one hand and braces it against the books on the left side of your head. You squeak and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to think if there’s anything in your purse you can use to defend yourself with, then remembering you’d left your purse on Ichabod’s unoccupied desk upon entering the Business Office. Bigby says your name and you open one eye to look at him tentatively. 

     “Among all these dusty books your scent really stands out…I like it.” A small smile crosses Bigby’s expression before it fades quickly and he looks you in the eyes. “…Are you afraid of me?” He asks. You nod once, hands trembling. Bigby’s brows peak and he says your name again, this time as a sigh. “Please don’t be.”

     He leans down and kisses you, pushing you gently into the books behind you. You’re torn for a moment between kissing him back or going into cardiac arrest. 

     You decide to close your eyes and kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and sighing. 

     For someone who was a wolf for centuries, he sure knows how to kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, I promise the last couple of chapters are on their way!


	10. Chapter 10

     The dust from the ages-old books that surround you climbs into your nose and you have to pull away from the kiss after mere seconds in order to sneeze into your elbow. You hear Bigby make a sound of amusement and open your eyes to glance at him, nose still buried in your sleeve. He’s grinning, almost laughing, chest swelling with sound he tries to contain. You hadn’t  thought to be embarrassed until now. Blood rushes to your cheeks. You move your arm away from your face but just to cover your mouth with your hand, trying to hide the blush, looking at a rusty globe stacked on top of several books by your ankle. 

     “Um…” You scramble for words. “…Thank you…for the tour…I um, don’t think I can navigate out of here by myself, could you show me?”

     “Sure,” Bigby says, then after a sly pause he adds, “if that’s what you want.”

     You look up at him then. His grin isn’t toothy, he isn’t chuckling at you any longer, but the smile present on his face is a cunning one, confident and wolfish.

     “What do you want?” He asks. He’s still leaning close to you, a hand pressed to the books by the side of your head. The curve of his body is somewhere between a loaded spring and a repose, a wire pulled taught but otherwise unstressed. You can see the line of his upper arm through the fabric of his shirt and trace it down to his collarbone, peeking from over unclasped buttons. He lowers his head slightly, asking quietly for eye contact. You oblige. His gaze is intense, eyes round and dark and piercing, and you feel like he’s staring through your clothes and can see you naked. Gentle creases form around his eyes as his grin widens devilishly. You see his teeth: pointed and white. The blush in your cheeks becomes fueled by something else. Your lips part for a moment before you speak. 

     “I want…” You stop. The beginning of your sentence had slipped out unbid. Bigby waits patiently, but you can see the shallow wrinkles in the bridge of his nose and around his mouth deepen. You realize he’s hanging on your words. You realize you have him wrapped around your fingers. You feel like you did walking up to him in the bar in your black dress. You feel a powerful thrill course through you at the idea of batting around the Big Bad Wolf, harmlessly of course. You’d give him what he wanted…eventually. 

     “…to get to work, actually, if this concludes the tour. I have a lot of things to do in Bufkin’s absence.”

     Bigby’s face falls and he shifts his weight to stand. You reach a hand out and cup his cheek before he can, and his downcast features soften and brighten again at your touch. You dare to lean forward and stand on your toes and press another kiss to his mouth. Quicker, sweeter than the first, and you’re sure to pull away when you hear his breath hint at heaviness. Disappointment crosses his face again briefly but a small, knowing grin takes up residence. 

     “Besides,” You say. “I want to finish my work quickly. I have a date I need to get ready for tonight.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long, long year, but I've graduated, moved, and finally settled back down to get to writing again! Thank you to everyone who kept this work in their bookmarks, everyone who came to this fic during the interim, either to reread it or discover it fresh, and everyone who left a comment hoping this work would continue. It has! Chapter 10 is short, but it's in the next few chapters that the real meat of the story gets rolling. I can't wait to write more!


	11. Chapter 11

     It was, you admit to yourself as you cross the threshold into your apartment, more difficult than you had anticipated to keep your hands away from Bigby as he intermittently came in and out of the Business Office throughout the day. You lean against your door to close it, then exhale, your mind briefly wandering back over the moments when you and Bigby needed to share breathing space and still be professional. 

     You feel your stomach flip as it had when Bigby, between ventures to follow two different leads, needed to look through the chest you happened to be inventorying and crouched on the floor next to you. You had spread out a thick, scratchy blanket to keep your knees from bruising against the hard floor, and unbidden images of Bigby grabbing and pressing you to that rough fabric reddened your face. The uncomfortable sensation against your palm supporting your weight suddenly seemed like a welcome, wanted feeling.

     You felt him look up at you and grin at your blush. You hoped he had been imagining the same thing. You wondered whether he would act on it, but  knew he wouldn’t. You two were at work and anyone could walk in. He collected the items he needed from the chest and paused before standing. You felt again exposed, like he could see you naked, his gaze piercing and dark. You ran your tongue over your lip, suddenly parched, and you watched Bigby’s gaze glance over your mouth and hunger fill his eyes. He reluctantly stood to leave. As he turned to walk back to the door, you thought you noticed a twitch in his slacks and a difficulty in his stride. 

     You grin devilishly as you had in your memory. It's satisfying to know you could turn on a mundie, but with the Big Bad Wolf, it's thrilling. Exhilirating, nearly to the point of fear, like riding a roller coaster with no seatbelt and only your grip to keep you secure as the ride rattles and swerves hundreds of feet above the ground. You’re flirting with death. You’re making him blush. 

     You think briefly that Bigby lives in the same building as you, and that there’s nothing stopping you from going to his flat right now, dressed to kill, and pushing him harder, farther, testing the limits of his self control, provoking the beast and determining just how well he really has buried his past self…The thought makes you shiver. It’s tempting, but also cruel.

     And dangerous, says a small voice in the back of your mind. You pause, the thrill in your veins tempered as your grin fades. You remember the stakes of the game you’re playing, nebulous, but still not to be overlooked: bruises, bites, fatal wounds, Bigby could even kill you outright if he really did lose control. 

     You remember you had scheduled a second date tonight. A chill passes through you, like the ones that ran over your skin and through your bones when you were first in Bigby’s presence. You exhale. You’re not afraid, but also not without caution. Getting drunk on the flirting (as you tend to do) could lead you down less pleasant paths than desired. 

     Grounded, you move away from the door and set your things on the writing desk, now moved to a less obstructive location further down the hallway. Digging through your purse you find your phone and locate Bigby’s number. Doctor Swineheart had given you his entire book of contacts when you first began working under him. He hadn’t called you since you began filling in for Bufkin at the Business Office, which meant that patients were, at present, blessedly few and none serious or life-threatening. You kept your essentials on hand at all times regardless, a bundle in your purse, just in case he called needing your assistance. For now…well, for now you’re confirming a date with Bigby Wolf. 

     “Same place, same time?” You type…then erase it. 

     “Hey! What’s the plan for tonight?” …Still doesn’t feel right. 

     “Hi Bigby. Great working with you today. Where sh—“ Nope, nope, what are you thinking? You toy with the idea of sending something tantalizing. 

     “Can’t wait to see you tonight. If we’re going to the same place, be sure I  don’t overdrink! I want to remember the rest of the night.” …Huh.

     You hit send. 


	12. Chapter 12

     As you lock your door, your best shoes buckled on and most daring dress buttoned up, you wonder if you should remove a few steps of the night and instead of meeting Bigby at the bar, just walk to his apartment. It seems odd to you that he has requested to meet at the bar when you would both be leaving from the same place. Now that you think about it, you realize as you slip your keys into your purse, the situation had been the same for your first date. You suppose maybe he wanted to give you just a little space so you could settle into your new home, and not much had changed insofar as what had been unpacked since yesterday. You make your way to the elevator. 

     Maybe, you wonder, he goes back to the Business Office or follows leads and never really knows when he will be home, and wouldn’t want you to wait at his door if he has some last minute business to attend at work? Maybe he doesn’t like you being in his apartment? But he let you sleep there yesterday…

     Maybe he’s tempted to just pull you into his flat once you arrive at his door all dolled up and make quick work of you. 

     It’s warm, but you shiver, and decide to keep to the plan, not without some difficulty. You press the circular button in the wall to summon the elevator and it lights up a dull yellow. 

     Summer is in full force, so the early evening sun still casts heat and light as you walk down the street to hail a cab from the corner. The orange hue pairs well with your outfit as you wave to an oncoming taxi. 

     The doors to the bar creak a little as you open it, scanning for tousled brown hair and a sharp gaze. It seems you’ve beaten Bigby here tonight and you feel something you can’t name, relief and disappointment together. You make your way to a booth this time rather than the tall barstools, taking in the decor of the place. It’s a fair deal nicer than the Trip Trap; a Mundie bar. You wonder why Bigby has chosen here rather than a place run by Fables. Maybe he doesn’t want his interest in you to be whispered about in a community that already has mixed opinions about him. As you slide into one side of the dim booth, you imagine how it would look: A relatively new Fable in town would be a good subject for a one night stand, or a rebound from Snow, or maybe there would just be a short search if you went missing since you hadn’t had time to make many friends…

     You purse your lips and sigh. You guess you’re still scared. 

     You quickly smile at the waitress when she comes by and you order wine. Nothing too hard, you don’t want to start properly without Bigby. When your wine arrives, you sip and watch. Whenever the door opens, you feel a thrill pour through you at odd points: Your throat, your heart, your palms, your navel. When it’s not Bigby who takes off a hat or brushes hair from his eyes, a draining sensation follows through your body in the same order. It begins to get uncomfortable. 

     You check your phone to make sure you’d set a time to meet. You confirmed you had both agreed on eight o’clock. You check the time. You order another glass of wine. 

     In the corner, there’s a tiny stage for a live band, but nobody is playing tonight. The equipment has been cleared away and the stage is completely bare with not even a mic stand, just cheap, black, scratchy carpet and a hanging naked lightbulb, lit and illuminating the space, emphasizing the quiet of a corner usually abuzz with activity. 

     There are different bartenders here tonight. They’re flirting coyly with each other in between conversations with the patrons sitting at the bar. Both look perfectly human. 

     The waitress asks you if there’s anything else she can get for you. You shake your head no and she leaves the bill near your wrist on the table before turning and checking on the adjacent booth, the ritual repeated. 

     You look at your bill and pay in cash, deciding to call a taxi from your phone rather than wait on the street.

     The cab ride back to your apartment isn’t pleasant. The interior smells too strongly of deodorant and you’d drank too much wine on an empty stomach, having never committed to ordering food in case Bigby had come. 

     You press the circular button in the wall to summon the elevator and it lights up a dull yellow. 

     You pause when faced with the spread of buttons inside the elevator and your finger hovers over the button marked with Bigby’s floor. The doors close, though you have not selected a destination; you’re taking too long. You’re truly torn and somewhere between irritation and fear when your phone rings in your purse. You jump, pressing a random floor and sending the elevator up on a goose chase. You dig through your purse and your stomach drops along with the elevator when you see Doctor Swineheart’s caller ID and not Bigby’s. You glance up to see the floor you accidentally selected. It’s closer to yours than to Bigby’s. You sigh and guess you’ll just go home.

     “Hi Doctor.” You say, pressing the button for your floor as the elevator passes Bigby’s without a bump or hitch. 

     “Been out drinking? That’s not a behavior the medically advised should willingly demonstrate.”

     “You can tell from ‘Hi Doctor?’”

     “I have three degrees and am several hundred years old. I know my way around a bottle and the type of speech that follows.” 

     You sigh but can’t help a sad grin as the elevator doors open to the random floor, identical to yours in layout and without a single person to break the dark-light-dark-light patters the sconces threw across the walls. “What can I help you with?” You ask. The doors ding, close, and you resume your ascent to your floor. 

     “I gave Bufkin his final house visit. He’s right as rain and can take the last bandages off tomorrow. I figured you’d want to be there to help, since his was your first injury to treat as my protégé.”

     “Oh,” You say, stepping off the elevator and pausing at your front door. “Good, that’s very good…Will he be resuming his work at the Business Office?”

     “Undoubtedly. He was twitchier than I’ve ever seen him and that’s saying something. He’s dying to get out and about again.”

     “Oh, good. That’s good to hear. I’m…I’m very glad he’s healed so fully.”

     “You should be glad, and proud. You helped put him on the path to a solid recovery.”

     “Thank you, Doctor.”

     “Having said that, I suspect you’re a little out of practice since then. It was big of you to take on Bufkin’s duties in the Business office in your spare time, but your purpose as my shadow is to learn how to be a better doctor. I’m reluctant to let you go if you’ve found your true calling as a secretary but—”

     “No! No, I don’t want to stop assisting you.” Your hands cease to idle with your keys and you unlock your door purposefully. “I’m glad you called and told me. I’ll be at Bufkin’s place first thing in the morning. Truth be told, I could use some time away from the Business Office…I don’t know how I feel about the place.”

     “Mhm.” He doesn’t need to say any more. He knows everything you omitted. “Right, I’ll see you first thing tomorrow. Bring your sensibilities with you, no place for a hangover in this profession.”

     “Yes, Doctor.” You say, again with a sad grin. 

     You lock your door and hang up the call, placing your keys and purse on the table by the door. You look at your phone. The battery is low. You check your missed calls; nothing new since yesterday, when you had forgotten your phone at the bar. They were all from Bigby, trying to locate your phone. You pause. 

     With another feeling you can’t name, you press on Bigby’s name and hold the phone to your ear. 

     It rings four times before going to voicemail. He hasn’t finished setting it up, the mail box still reciting his phone number instead of a proper message. Or maybe he has finished setting it up, and this is how he preferred it. 

     “Bigby, I…” 

     You haven’t quite thought through what you are going to say.

     “…I heard that Bufkin is better and will return to the Business Office tomorrow. I thought you might want to know. If you get the chance, call me back, we…I thought we were supposed to meet tonight for drinks. Alright…have a good night…”

     You hang up, the sentiment “I hope you wish you were having one with me” barely contained. Your feelings are hurt but you’re still horny. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless all of you for your patience! I am particularly proud of this chapter and I hope you all enjoy!

     Bufkin’s home isn’t in the Woodland Luxury block. Being one of the first Fables to come to the Mundie world and as a keeper of the Business Office, he lives in the small building right behind it, what used to be where the water heaters for the Business Office were kept. Small, sealed save for some skylights and a door, and with a brick and steel access bridge connecting one roof to the other. Since Bufkin’s total height of three-foot-three doesn’t pass the bannister, it’s a simple task for him to walk the length of the bridge unspotted, making an expensive Glamour unnecessary and allowing him to live outside of The Farm upstate. He doesn’t mourn his lack of time spent in the daylight, preferring the dark rafters of the Business Office building. 

     “It reminds me of home.” He tells you as you snip the bandages off his gracefully articulated wing. 

     “Do you miss her?” You ask as you bunch gauze and sutures up in the palm of your gloved hand before tossing them into your waste bin.

     “I do. She wasn’t as wicked as she was made out to be. But that’s so long ago now, and I’m quite happy with my new employers.” 

     He smiles at you as you ask him to stretch his wings. He does so to their fullest extent. He’s actually much larger than one would think looking at him with his wings folded. He crouches and flutters his healed wing several times, a smile spreading across his face. 

     “Is there any pain, Bufkin?” Doctor Swineheart breaks his silence. He had informed you on Bufkin’s doorstep that he would simply be watching unless he decided you needed guidance, and after Bufkin had let them in and pleasantries were exchanged, he had taken up his post standing against a wall to watch your handiwork. You figure he wants to gauge just how much you want to continue training under him. You deserve the suspicion, you think to yourself, brow bending downward as you finish cleaning up your supplies. You’ve let your purpose in Fabletown as his protege take a back seat. It isn’t fair to the Fables whom Doctor Swineheart had attended alone while you and Bigby had flirted, and it certainly isn’t fair to the Doctor himself. You inhale. You’re still upset. 

     “A little pain, Doctor, but I think it’s mostly from the stiffness…”

     “Can you fly?” You ask him. 

     “I’m afraid it’s a little too close in here for me to fly properly, Miss. Would it be too much trouble to come across the bridge with me? Plenty of space in the Office building. Plus, Bigby will want to see me all patched up as well, surely!”

     Your smile becomes fixed. You have been hoping to kick this can down the road, at least a little. 

     “Of course, Bufkin.” The Doctor chimes in moments before your silence would have become noticeable. “You go on ahead, those flights of stairs to the roof are a little much for an old man. I’ll take the street.” 

     Bufkin chirps happily and scurries on all fours up the squarely spiraling staircase to the door to the roof. Doctor Swineheart watches him for a moment before clapping his hand to your shoulder and steering you toward the door you’d come through. 

     “Well done.” He says to you once he hears Bufkin close the rooftop door behind him.

     “Thank you, Doctor,” And in the same breath you add, “And I’m sorry.”

     “For what?” He says as he opens the door for you. The light from the street blinds you for a moment.

     “Well, I…I neglected, you know…this.” You wave your hand around, indicating where Bufkin had just been, your medical bag, the plastic hazardous waste  container, sealed and full of inside out latex gloves, old gauze, and used cotton balls. “And you, as well. I neglected you.”

     “This is all so heartfelt,” The Doctor says, walking alongside you and not making eye contact. “It’s awful that I must tell you I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” 

     Your stride falters for a moment and you have to speed up for a few paces to walk abreast with him again. 

     “I’ve been neglecting my work here with you! Because of the…the whole thing with me filling in for Bufkin? That’s not at all part of my job, how did I even begin doing that? You’ve been treating patients yourself this whole time, I should be ashamed…”

     “My dear,” He interrupts, but there is no edge in his voice like there usually is. “You do realize what ‘on-call’ means?”

     “I…yes, I do.” 

     “Are you certain? Because I recall not calling for you.”

     “I…” You feel a blush fill your cheeks. “I suppose you didn’t, but I still—”

     “If I had needed your assistance, I would have called. Can you honestly tell me that had I called you, you would not have answered?”

     You don’t need to think about your response.

     “Of course I would have answered.”

     “And at any time did we agree upon a rule dictating you solely working for me while here in Fabletown?”

     “Well, no…”

     “Or one where it was specified you could not spend your time when you were not shadowing me freely, and where you pleased?”

     “No…”

     “So, I’m afraid I must tell you once more,” He puts his hand on the round bronze knob to the Business Office’s back door, and as he turns it he looks up from it and briefly makes eye contact with you, giving a small smile. “that I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” 

     “So…” You walk through the door into the slightly cooler interior of the Business Office. “I understand, but do you mean you didn’t need my help?”

     “No my dear, I mean I didn’t need your skill. Nothing has happened that needed more than one pair of hands. Burns, bumps, the sort of boring things you learn how to handle in pre-med. Your purpose as my shadow is so you can learn. Nothing as of late has turned up that would have taught you anything you don’t already know.” 

     You feel taller, and for the first time today you brighten a little.

     “Thank you, Doctor.” 

     “Of course. But I’m not getting all sentimental for nothing.” He says, the usual clipped tone returning to his voice. “There is a reason I wanted to watch you handle yourself with Bufkin.” 

     “Oh?” 

     “Yes, but let’s see how he flies first.” He turns the handle of the door leading to the innermost storage space of the Business Office, revealing Bufkin hopping foot to foot on top of Ichabod Crane’s empty desk, anxious to fly.

     “Alright, my friend,” Doctor Swineheart crosses his arms as the door swings closed behind the two of you, eyes trained on Bufkin. “Let’s see how we did.” 

     Bufkin’s reply is the excited glint in his eyes and the full stretch of his wings. The powerful downbeat of his wings blows all the dust off Crane’s desk as Bufkin lifts himself into the air, stiffly at first, but with swiftly increasing grace and confidence. You can’t help but smile along with him as he loops through the rafters with precision, grins devolving into chuckles, then laughter as he alights on the desk once more, blowing the remaining dust from its surface. 

     “The turns are a little difficult, Doctor,” He says, a little winded. “But nothing that’ll keep me grounded.”

     “That’s to be expected. With time that joint will loosen back up. That break was something nasty; You’ve healed far faster than I anticipated, Bufkin.” The Doctor beamed, something you haven’t seen him do openly. 

     “Thank you both,” He says, then glances over your shoulder as the knob to the Office turns. “Ah, you just missed the big demonstration!” 

     Your stomach flops and you turn to see a familiar brooding brow and tousled brown hair. 

     “Back to flying?” Bigby says, less a question and more a congratulation. His gaze flicks over to you, warmly for a moment, then slowly draining into something else. Something paler and…sadder. You want to smile, like you did the last time the four of you were in this room together and Bigby was pale and sad and nervous. You want a smile from which to draw comfort, even if it’s your own, even if it’s not for his benefit, exactly. 

     You smile because Bufkin takes to the air again in response to Bigby, and you can’t help but get caught up in Bufkin’s infectious giggling. You’re comforted by a fully recovered patient and friend, and are able to push down any personal feelings aside from pride in a job well done. Doctor Swineheart can’t help but smile along with you. Neither can Bigby, though it seems to you he can’t fully box away what you are able to, his eyes flicking between watching Bufkin loop through the air and locking with yours. Under the relief and happiness for Bufkin, they’re still sad, still dark, sunk into his paler than usual features. You wonder what kept him last night, though the fact he was kept at all and didn’t call you still makes your mouth taste sour. 

     “Well then, don’t hesitate to call if anything should turn up problematic.” Doctor Swineheart says to Bufkin as he alights again on the now dust-free desk. He pulls a small bottle from his worn leather bag. “These are for any pain you might have over the next few days.” 

     Bufkin reaches for the bottle, but Doctor Swineheart pulls it out of his reach, locking eyes with him, a deadly serious tone in his voice.

     “Do not, and I mean do not mix these with wine, Bufkin. I don’t fancy coming back and patching you up again for the same damned reason.” 

     Bufkin, suddenly solemn, nods and gingerly takes the pill bottle. 

     “To be honest, Doc, I don’t mean to get that sloshed again. It wasn’t a good time.”

     “Certainly not.” And then, softening, he added, “I’m glad you’re feeling better, my friend.” 

     “All thanks to you and yours, Doc! A right diamond in the rough, this one is!” Bufkin says, gesturing to you. You beam. 

     “Happy to be of service.” You and Doctor Swineheart say at once. 

     “Does this mean you’ll be leaving the Business Office?” Bufkin asks you. “You’ve done quite a good job keeping things in order while I was sorting myself out. I’d hate to lose a good pair of helping hands, but I know your calling is elsewhere and I’d understand if you want to pursue it further. Hardly glamourous, a historian or secretary or bookkeeper, next to a doctor, saving lives!” 

     He’s smiling warmly but you feel yourself blanche and resist the urge to glance at Bigby. 

     “I…haven’t quite decided yet.”

     “My protegee, when she is not assisting me, is free to spend her time as she pleases.” Doctor Swineheart chimes in. “Personally I would rather have leisure time instead of take on a second job, but to each their own.”

     “Well do let us know, Miss!” Bufkin chirps. It really is hard not to smile around him. “I’ll save the less-grueling tasks for you in the mean time!”

     “Thank you Bufkin.” You say, and any additional comment you might have added is cut short by Doctor Swineheart’s hand clapping your shoulder, taking you by surprise and forcing you to take a step forward. 

     “Though it’s always a pleasure, we must take our leave. The job of a pair of local doctors is never done and I fear I’ve been putting off a house call to The Farm for everyone’s annual checkups. Quite the waiting list, you know, so we should get going.” 

     “I don’t envy you,” Says Bigby, the first he’s spoken since congratulating Bufkin on a full recovery. “That’s a long drive. You’re leaving for The Farm now?” He glances at the wall clock. 

     “Heavens, no. We wouldn’t get there until nightfall. We need to pack.”

     “…Pack?” You ask him, a little confused. He’d mentioned this Farm-wide checkup, but not that it would be so soon, and certainly not that it would take more than one day.

     “For the range of Fables we’ll be treating. Do you suppose my instruments are one-size-fits-all, and I only need this old bag to carry their totality?” 

     You wince. Seems the time for sentimentality has passed. 

     “No, I suppose not.”

     “Though it occurs to me with more than one set of hands packing will go fairly quickly. You’ll have some time to yourself later to spend as you please before the day is done.”

     Never a word misplaced with the Doctor. You can’t help but flick your gaze over to Bigby. He is pointedly looking down. This just makes you wince again. 

     “That is, if we have a semblance of haste.” The Doctor finishes. You take the hint. You say your goodbyes to Bufkin and follow Doctor Swineheart to the Business Office door, pausing as you pass Bigby. You know it would be more awkward to leave and say nothing than it already is to face him at all, wounds still stinging, so you muster some courage. 

     “I’ll see you?” It’s simple, and implies with just enough edge that he owes you a polite explanation. His eyes are deep and tired, and he draws several breaths before replying.

     “Yeah. Let’s talk later about that call of yours I missed. I’m sorry, I’m sure it was important.”

     Code. Thin code, but regardless he still wants to keep fairly quiet that you two have been seeing each other…semi-seeing each other? One kiss and one date, half of which you can’t clearly recall, followed by Bigby no-calling and no-showing for your second date. And yet, here he is. Clearly torn up about something. You ponder for a moment how either of you would define this relationship. 

     “Sure thing. I’ll let you know when I’m free.” 

     “Sounds good.”

     You aren’t sure how to end the conversation. A handshake or hug would be…torturously awkward, and you don’t feel like kissing him. You don’t think he would want you to, here in front of your peers. Close enough to touch him, you settle on a dumb-looking wave and follow Doctor Swineheart out of the Business Office, flushing in embarrassment. 

     “You’ll likely be free in a few hours, you know.”

     Doctor Swineheart has never called you out on your shit quite so directly before.

     “I know. I don’t know if I want to spend that time with him though.”

     “He knows.” 

     “…Yeah.”

     “Well, I don’t mean to pry into your personal life uninvited, so I’ll instead remind you about that matter I wanted to discuss with you.”

     “Oh?”

     “You’ve proven to me you can perform on your own. You’ve done excellently with Bufkin and with patients in less urgent states of needing medical attention, both from your time in the Homelands and studying under me here.”

     “Thank you, Sir. Are you…are you going somewhere?”

     “Yes, in fact I am. I’ll be counting on you to keep everyone healthy while I’m away.”

     “Yes, Sir. I’ll do my best.”

     “Of course you will. You’re legally obligated to do no less.”

     “…Yes, Sir.” No pressure or anything. “How long will you be gone?” 

     “At least for a few weeks.” You stumble. That’s much longer than you expected. You don’t doubt your capabilities, but it’s been so long since you’ve practiced by yourself. Not since you were a doctor in the Homelands.

     “That’s so long, though. Where are you going?”

     “To visit Snow. She called and asked for me personally to help her deliver the baby.”


	14. Chapter 14

     When you first had met Doctor Swineheart, you hadn’t pegged him for a truck guy, familiar with Mundie technology or no. You have to climb up the tire of the 4x4 to finish tarping down all of his medical equipment and supplies, boxed up in the bed. You haven’t asked him about his taste exactly, but you do mention to him it was a surprise. 

     “Everything else about you is so…simple, or refined, I guess.”

     “One must keep things fresh.” Is all he will dignify as an answer. You smile a little. “We’ll be leaving early tomorrow so I encourage you to get to bed early, but as suspected, many hands makes for light work.” He gives you a sideways glance as he brushes his hands together, clapping off any dust from the tarp. “As your senior and mentor I feel you should know that I hope I can offer guidance in other aspects of your life aside from your medical profession, should you require it.”

     You’re taken aback. 

     “Thank you, Doctor, that’s…that’s kind of you.” You pause. “…Do you think I’m doing the right thing…about Bigby?”

     “I think you’re a smart young woman and I think you already know what you’re going to do, should the time come for important decisions or turning points regarding your relationship with him. Agonizing over whether or not that’s the RIGHT thing to do is immaterial.” 

     You can’t help but chuckle. Ever pragmatic. Except for the enormous white truck he drives. 

     “I’ll see you in the morning, then, Doctor.” 

     “Take care.” 

…

 

     Your homes are both so close to each other, just a few floors separating you from conflict, or apologies, or sex. That last thought bunches in your gut as you find yourself once again staring down the panel of buttons in the elevator, torn between the number that would take you to your home and the number that would take you to his. 

     …Doctor Swineheart’s words echo through your mind.

     …You press the number that would take you to his. 

     The elevator moves under your feet, and obediently ceases carrying you upwards and the doors open once you reach Bigby’s floor. The elevator dings politely. ‘You’re here, where you wanted to go,’ it says.

     You pass identical door after identical door, the tension within you mounting as you slow and then stop in front of the one guarding Bigby’s apartment. You eye the doorbell. It’s not been replaced recently, you can tell by the archaic style of the decorative metal, but the wear remains minimal. Not many visitors. You suppose for The Big Bad Wolf, few house guests are to be expected. You suppose you’re one of the few, then. 

     You ring the bell. A tone less cheerful or polite than that of the elevator announces your presence. It jars you for a moment. You hear movement from behind the door, and the minute circle of light shining though the view port blackens as an eye is pressed to it. Though the tiny white beam quickly returns, no rattle of locks or turn of a knob follow immediately. You shift. How you felt at the bar, while avoiding ordering food and watching strangers enjoy themselves, resurfaces in your chest. 

     “Bigby?” 

     Finally, you hear locks slide from their guarded positions and the door swings half open. Bigby leans against the door, standing in the threshold and pressing his shoulder into the wall. Clearly not an invitation inside. 

     “Hey.” Rather than wait for you to prompt him, he sighs and knits his brows together. “Listen, I’m sorry I stood you up. I was…having some issues and didn’t really know how else to deal with them than to bail on our date. I should have at least texted you. I was being a jackass. I’m sorry.”

     You’re a little taken aback. You didn’t really plan out what you were going to say to him other than asking him about his disappearance last night. Something in his apology to you stuck out, though. 

     “Issues?”

     Bigby glances down. “Yeah.”

     “Bigby Wolf has issues?”

     “Of course, just like everyone else.”

     “Issues that keep you from letting me know you couldn’t make it?”

     Bigby sighed. “If it’s fine with you, I’d rather not get into the specifi—”

     “Is it because you found out Snow is pregnant?” 

     You know immediately that this was the wrong thing to say. You watch his face shift to shock then crumple into an expression of incredulous hurt.

     “And what if it was, huh? How many ways do I have to tell you that this, that you and me doing this, being a THING, that this isn’t for Snow?” His brows furrow, an indication of anger he’s never before directed at you. “How old are you, huh? How many centuries have you been alive? How much of that time have you spent building your life around something, someone, who was never yours? Who was never MEANT to be yours?” 

     He takes a step forward, opening the door fully and filling the threshold. He’s darker than he usually seems. Larger, more frightening, the light bending and disappearing into him like a black hole. You take a step back. You’ve gone too far. You watch his scleras jaundice until his glare is a piercing orange. 

     “How much of yourself have you ever had to rebuild? How much strength did it take to even admit to yourself you needed to be rebuilt? How did you know where to even begin, huh? You know what happens when foundations go bad? Structures get condemned and torn down. When Snow packed up her desk and moved away, I had NOTHING left of what I built myself on. I had condemned myself by loving her and her leaving was what tore me down. But you know what?”

     He steps outside his doorway. You see his teeth, his real wolf’s teeth, bared and white. “I didn’t let that be the end of my story. Read the books, Snow’s path and mine were never meant to meet like that, and it took a long time to admit that to myself. Before I could admit it though, that whole time I had nothing to hold myself up, no foundation, I had to just get good with being this…this raw thing, this structure with no base, just doing everything I could to stay upright and try to be happy that Snow was happy. You knew!” 

     You back into the wall opposite his door. “You knew I was trying to find a way to rebuild myself into something healthy or whatever. I said this wasn’t a rebound or some…some sick thing where you reminded me of her. I just…I just genuinely wanted to try to find someone else, someone who maybe wanted it, to help hold me up, and be part of who I am…” 

     He stops moving toward you. You have tears streaming from wide, unblinking eyes. You aren’t frightened or sobbing, just shocked and weeping as Bigby’s onslaught of emotion and honesty washes over you, wave after forceful wave, physically pushing you back from him until your back is to the wall. 

     “But that’s the problem. I’ve done that before. Using my love for a person as my foundation was what made me so unstable a structure now. I bailed on our date because I realized I still hurt like fucking hell when I heard the news. What’s the worst part is I’m actually really happy for her. I’m not in love with her anymore. It’s just this…this empty space in me where my love for her used to be is unbearable. I thought I…I thought you could maybe build something there with me, I thought you could help me fill it, but I panicked when I realized how bad that emptiness in me still hurt. I didn’t want to try and have a relationship with you on top of that feeling. I didn’t want…I didn’t want to go to you this broken thing, sleep with you a few times trying to patch myself up with sex, then realize it couldn’t fill that hole in me and then either keep fucking you for fun and not care how it might hurt you or just…just do this, I guess, where I tell you why I don’t…why I don’t want to keep seeing you.” 

     You finally let out a sob. Bigby’s eyes blanch back to white, shining a little from tears threatening to fall. 

     “I should have at least told you I was being a piece of shit and cancel the date, but I thought even…even contacting you in that moment would be too much, and I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. I was so empty, I thought I couldn’t be…I don’t know, strong enough or respectful enough to let you down easy. I thought if I reached out to you, I would change my mind, go to the bar, then pull out every stop I have and try to just…just feel something other than what I was feeling. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve what I am. It was sick and selfish of me to think that I could…that you could…”

     The tears fell, but just two. You think distantly that it has probably been a long time since he’s cried, though you don’t have reason to think this. 

     “I don’t want…I don’t want to condemn myself and be torn down again. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. I don’t want to try and find myself in you. I don’t want my foundation to be something so tenuous as being in love with you.” 

     Your throat hurts, but your quiet voice is still clear.

     “In love with me?”

     Bigby takes a step back.

     “I guess it might be too soon to say so…though it feels like that’s the case, at least.” You swallow. “But…like I said, it doesn’t matter. I…I thought it mattered. I thought it mattered a lot. I thought it meant I had direction, you know? That maybe I could find something to stand on again. But…that was never a fair request for me to make of you. So…I don’t think we should see each other again for now. I thought I was ready, but…I don’t want to just…do again with you what I did with Snow. You deserve better than me. You deserve better than me trying to use you to make me whole. Snow did, too.”

     You’re shaking, clutching your hands over your heart, tears still silently flowing. Bigby roughly wipes the single trails from the tears he shed and offers his hand to you. “Let me take you back to your door. If nothing else, we’re still cubicle buddies at the Business Office.”

     You shake your head. 

     “I—” You have to swallow before you can speak. “I can go myself.” 

     “…Yeah, okay. Good.” He turns to go back into his apartment, then pauses. “I really am sorry I bailed. I was looking forward to having a fun night with you, I just…I don’t want something you tried to fix, that you tried to help build crumble in front of you because of the…” Bigby chuckles darkly. “Because of the bad foundation. I’ll see you at the Business Office, I’m sure.”

     He closes the door, then the locks each click slowly into place, one by one, behind him.


End file.
